


Alchemical Transmutation

by HyenaSpotz



Series: Arkham Horror LCG Vignettes [7]
Category: Arkham Horror (Board Game)
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 13:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyenaSpotz/pseuds/HyenaSpotz
Summary: Mark Harrigan wakes up in the Ward Theatre after intermission of The King in Yellow and finds things have changed.





	Alchemical Transmutation

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the LCG card of the same name.

Someone jostled Mark Harrigan awake. He opened his eyes to the dim light of the Ward Theatre. The room smelled musty, and underneath that was the scent of dried blood. A dark-skinned woman in a red dress with long, brown braids stood above him. She had a firm grip on his shoulders, but she was looking cautiously toward the stage. He realized his own hand was clenched reflexively around her wrist. His fingers were pale against her skin. 

“What hap—” 

The woman pressed a finger to his lips and shook her head. Her gaze was stern, but Mark saw the flash of panic in her eyes.

He sat upright and took stock of his surroundings. Dust filled the air, and the stage curtains were in tatters. Across the row he saw another patron who appeared to be sleeping. Mark noticed there was no rise or fall to the man’s chest, and his white skin bore the pallor of a corpse.

He had just been here for a production of  _ The King in Yellow _ , trying to take his mind off life for an evening. Then there was an intermission, and...

“What’s going on? What in the  _ hell _ is going on?” 

“Quiet!” the woman snapped in a harsh whisper. Then she softened her tone. “I understand your worry, sir, but we are in danger.” Her accent wasn’t an American one. “You served in the Great War?”

“How do you—”

“I know the look of someone who has seen far more than they should. That, and you have a Browning M1911 in a holster under your jacket.”

He shook his head. “It isn’t loaded.”

“Well,” she murmured, “we will have to fix that.” She bent down to pick up a rusted flask—presumably left by some other patron—and began chanting under her breath. Mark’s eyes widened as a glow emanated from the woman’s eyes. He scrambled back out of his seat, his mind filled with the thought of Sophie, and that cursed  _ thing _ consuming her from the inside. 

The Browning was in his hand, aimed at this stranger, clicking powerlessly in the eerie quiet of the Ward. Warm tears ran down his cheeks. He dropped the pistol, and the glow ceased. The woman opened her eyes, her breathing came in strained gasps, and she held out her hand. Where the flask had been, she now held several bullets.

“How did you do that?”

“It is not the time for explanations. What is your name?”

“Mark Harrigan,” he told the woman whom he had just tried to shoot. “Who are you? What are we doing here?”

“My name is Akachi Onyele.” She reached over the back of the seat and pressed the bullets into his hand. “Tell me, Mr. Harrigan, have you ever seen evil? True evil?”

Mechanically, he knelt down, picked up the pistol, and began placing the bullets into the magazine. He thought back to the War. Those things that had devoured the other men. And Sophie… his Sophie.

He choked back tears and nodded. Akachi regarded him with sympathy.

“Then you know what we must do here.” She reached her hand into her purse and pulled out a long knife with symbols etched onto its surface. “Come, we do not have much time.”

The magazine clicked into the pistol, and Mark pulled back the slide. For a brief, fleeting moment, he felt he was where he belonged.

He hated that feeling.


End file.
